


Sunset Division Episode 3-Critical Missing

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: Sunset Division [3]
Category: Adam-12, Colors (1988), End of Watch (2012), Hunter (US TV 1984), Southland (TV)
Genre: Action, California, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Gen, Humor, LAPD, Los Angeles, Police, Police Procedural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: The officers of Sunset Station hit the streets for what they hope will be an uneventful Christmas Eve watch.





	Sunset Division Episode 3-Critical Missing

_ **Sunset Division** _

 

**Episode 3**

 

“ _In Los Angeles, you can have the city life and feel like you’re on holiday at the same time.” – Isabel Marant_

 

 

_ **Previously in “Sunset Division”...** _

 

Detectives Hunter and Pace concluded their homicide investigation with the arrest of two suspects, both of whom confessed.  
  
Sunset officers were involved in a pursuit which led to the rescue of a kidnapping victim.

 

“ _ **Critical Missing”**_

 

“ _All units on all frequencies, stand by, 22-X-Ray-22 is in pursuit of a 211-purse snatch suspect, northbound through the alley between Victory and Hampton. Suspect is a male Hispanic on a chrome bicycle, with a shaved head, wearing a yellow shirt and black shorts. Requesting back up, air unit and supervisor.”_

 

“Easy!”Brian Taylor called as he braced his right hand on the dashboard.

 

His partner, Mike Zavala accelerated as they closed in on the suspect, who peddled the bicycle surprisingly quickly.

 

“22 _-Adam-99, show us backing 22-X-22,_ ” a smooth, deep voice belonging to Officer Andre` Jones crackled over the radio.

 

“Oh great, Day Watch,” Zavala sighed as the patrol car closed in on the suspect. “We'd better catch this guy. I don't want those assholes givin' us shit about losing some _vato_ on a bicycle.”

 

The suspect exited the alley and turned right onto Hampton Street before leaning into a left turn on Elm Avenue.

 

A large sanitation truck had begun to pull away from the curb, forcing the suspect into a skid and causing him to nearly topple over to avoid it. The truck's air-brakes squealed as it lurched to a stop.

 

The suspect ditched the bicycle and ran up the driveway of a small two story, white block apartment building, slipping the strap of the stolen purse over his shoulder as he went.

 

“Go! Go!” Zavala shouted at his partner who had thrown open his door before the patrol car had even come to a full stop.

 

Taylor jumped from the black and white and charged after the suspect who dashed through a small carport, and scaled a six-foot wooden fence.

 

“Police! Stop!” he barked.

 

Zavala guided the patrol car between the curb and garbage truck and accelerated as he turned onto Haynes street which ran parallel to the direction of the suspect.

 

He keyed the mic with one hand as he steered with the other.

 

“X-Ray-22, my partner is in foot pursuit eastbound through the houses from Elm towards Irwin.”

 

“22-X-Ray-22 _, roger,_ ” the dispatcher replied. “ _All units, 22-X-Ray-22 is in foot pursuit of a 211 suspect eastbound through the houses from Elm towards Irwin. Any air unit come in on Sunset frequency_ _._ ”

 

Taylor lifted himself over the fence and continued after the suspect, darting through another cement carport behind two ancient apartment buildings.

 

The suspect attempted to pull himself over the white cinder block wall at the far end of the carport, but slipped and landed on his knees. Just as Taylor was about to grab him, the suspect leapt to his feet and sprinted alongside the apartment building where he ended up on Haynes Street. He darted across the pavement right in front of Zavala in the black and white, the purse flailing behind him from its strap.

 

The suspect ran eastbound on Haynes with Taylor chasing after him and closing the distance.

 

As the suspect sprinted towards the cross street of Irwin Avenue, a black and white Explorer with light bar flashing screeched to a halt in the residential intersection.

 

The young man turned to see the muscular cop barreling towards him and immediately threw his hands in the air.

 

Jones, a black officer with a shaved head and his partner, Ernie Dominguez emerged from their black and white with guns drawn as Taylor drew his own pistol.

 

“Freeze!” Jones shouted. “Hands in the air!”

 

“Drop the purse! Hands behind your back!” Taylor ordered. Interlock your fingers!”

 

The suspect tossed away the purse and complied, breathing heavily and almost appearing relieved that the ordeal was over.

 

Zavala stepped from the patrol car with his weapon drawn and moved forward.

 

The back up officers kept their guns trained on the suspect as Taylor handcuffed the suspect and searched him.

 

“Goddamn, all I did...was...steal a purse,” the suspect panted. “Four...damn cops...all pointin' they guns at me? Shit.”

 

“Where the hell did you learn to ride a bike like that?” asked Zavala. “Shit, man. You're like the fuckin' Mexican Lance Armstrong.”

 

The suspect shook his head.

  
“I'm Salvadoran, _ese_. I ain't no _Mexican_.”

 

“Oh, word?” Zavala walked the suspect back to the black and white. “ _Lo siento._ You know Chuy? _Salvi_ dude who cleans my pool... _”_

 

“ _Chingate, pendejo!_ ”

 

“So that's a _no_?

 

“22-A-99, show Code-4, Haynes, just west of Irwin. One in custody,” Dominguez called into his ROVER. “You can cancel the airship.”

 

Taylor scooped the purse up from the pavement and quickly searched it.

 

“Money's still here,” he said, catching his breath.

 

Jones, draped his arm over the open door of the patrol car.

 

“Nice job, Taylor. You're pretty fast for a white boy.”

 

“Never miss leg day, bro,” Taylor coughed. “Thanks for the assist.”

 

“Just lookin' out for the new homies. Next shift, I'm movin' to Watch-4.”

 

Zavala opened the back door of the patrol car.

 

“'Bout time they got us some more bodies. LAPD opens a new division and can barely staff it.”

 

Jones nodded.

 

“I heard there's a few more coming in, too.”

“Great, more pigs,” the suspect mumbled.

 

“Get your foot inside,” said Taylor as he pushed the man's head down.

 

Zavala slammed the door.

 

“Hey!” the suspect yelled through the patrol car's rear window. “You just gonna leave my bike back there or what? Somebody gonna steal that shit!”

 

XXXXXX

 

Next watch.

 

Emily Orozco stood before her locker at Sunset Station. She had just pulled the straps of her Kevlar vest tight when she heard a familiar voice off to her left.

 

“There she is. The bitch who can't pick up a phone.”

 

Orozco dropped her head and smiled.

 

“I've been busy, ho.”

 

She turned to face her old partner, Chelsea Davis, a thin young woman with honey blonde hair that rested below her shoulders.

 

Davis dropped her bag and the women embraced in a friendly hug.

 

“Damn, I missed you, girl!” said Orozco. “I didn't know you were transferring up here.”

 

“Neither did I,” said Davis. “Found out two days ago I was getting reassigned. Apparently you guys are understaffed.”

 

Orozco slipped on her uniform shirt.

 

“The whole department's understaffed. How're things at Newton?”

 

Davis scanned the lockers until she found the one assigned to her and opened the door.

 

“How do you think? Ghetto's gonna ghetto. I think Sunset might be a nice change of pace. Plus, Sarge had me riding with Van Hauser, which is reason enough to welcome a transfer.”

 

Orzco laughed as she zipped up her shirt and tucked it into her pants.

 

“The S.S. Van Hauser is still afloat, huh? Taylor and Zavala will love to hear that.”

 

Davis pulled off her shirt, exposing a black sports bra.

 

“I heard those two knuckleheads were here. What trouble have they been getting into?”

 

Orzco shook her head. She had strapped on her Sam Browne and was snapping down the belt-keepers.

 

“I'll tell you later.” She pulled the Beretta pistol from her locker and slid it into the holster on her right hip. She held out her fist. “I'll see you at roll call.”

 

Davis pulled on her dark blue uniform pants then bumped her fist against Orozco's.

 

“See you at roll call.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Jones leaned against one of the long tables in the roll call room, facing Taylor and Zavala who were seated at the table behind his.

 

“Oh shit!” he called. “Is that Pacman?!”

 

Danny McGavin walked into the back of the room and threw up his hands.

 

“Dre! What's up!”

 

The two men slapped a high-five, then pulled each other in for a quick, one-armed bro hug.

 

“I heard you were at Sunset now,” said McGavin. “I guess we've just been missing each other.”

 

“Me and Pacman worked Gang Enforcement down at Southeast,” Jones explained to the two officers before him.

 

“That's where he picked up the name _Pacman_?” asked Taylor.

 

“Oh yeah,” Jones chuckled while McGavin stared at the floor. “Him and Hodges, they'd roll up on these corners, right? And Hodges was of the mind that you ease in there, slow your roll, when you deal with these gangsters, but not Danny Boy, here. He'd throw open the door of that plain wrap and he'd charge right after those assholes, like Pacman chasin' ghosts.”

 

McGavin cleared his throat.

 

“I like to think I've wised up since then. A little.”  
  
“Hey, why did it get so cold in here?” Zavala asked, slightly raising his voice.

 

Davis, in uniform, her hair now pulled back into a tight bun shot him a look as she approached.

 

“Good to see you too, Zavala. You ladies done gabbing yet? I'm here to work and I'd like to get started.”

 

“Oh man, thank God Davis is here,” Taylor said. “Remember Z, I was just telling you the other day how we've got too many cops up here who smile and we needed a frowner?”

 

Zavala crossed himself and looked to the ceiling.

 

“God answers prayer.”

 

“Everybody shut up,” Sergeant Nishioka called as he entered the room. He was followed by Sergeant Rideout, a lanky African-American who was a good two heads taller than him.

 

During roll call, Rideout who bore the rank of Sergeant-1, liked to post up against the wall, just inside the door. Nishioka, the Sergeant-2, who outranked him, took his place at the small desk on the raised platform at the head of the room.

 

Nishioka flipped open his binder and began to read out the crimes from the previous watch that the officers might need to be aware of.

 

“The Sunset Slapper is still out there,” sighed Nishioka. “His description's on the board for some of you transfers. Watch-2 almost nailed him on Thursday, I'm told, but they lost him somewhere on Western. Eight people. This guy's walked up and slapped eight people, six of them women, one of whom was a foreign tourist, which is why PAB keeps calling the captain nearly every day asking for updates. I swear to God, the Chief is _this_ close to calling in RHD on this thing. Make all of our lives easier and just catch this guy, will you?”

 

He turned the page in his binder and sighed heavily before looking out at his troops over his lowered spectacles.

 

“Okay, next order of business, diversity training.”  
  
He was met with sighs of annoyance and barely stifled profanity from the mid-watch officers.

  
  


“ _Diversity training_ ,” he continued, raising his voice to combat the jeers. “Will be held in two weeks, check the board to see when you're scheduled.”

  
  


Zavala raised his hand.

  
“Uh, Sarge, I'm Mexican. So I get a pass right? I mean, I'm already diverse, so this is just for the white cops, right?”

  
  


Taylor, sitting beside him, nearly spit out his coffee.

  
  


“Everyone, Zavala,” the sergeant sighed. “Even me.”

  
  


Orozco raised her hand.

  
  


Nishioka nodded.

  
  


“Lesbians, too.”

  
  


She lowered her hand.

  
  


“This is bullshit.”

 

“Is this because Zavala called a suspect a midget over the radio?” asked Davis earning hearty laughter from the room.

 

Zavala looked back at her over his shoulder.

 

“How the fuck?” he whispered.

 

“Shit was classic,” she smirked. “You know something like that's not gonna stay in the division.”

 

“One of my buddies at Hollywood texted me about it,” offered Jim Reed as he sat next to his partner Pete Malloy, two tables away.

 

Zavala's head dropped. Taylor laughed as he patted his partner's shoulder.

 

“You'd think so,” Nishioka raised his voice over the laughter. “but this was already planned out weeks ago. Moving on, as you know, it's Christmas Eve, which means a lot of DUI's, so be careful out there. Also keep your eyes peeled for porch pirates. 2100 block of Durango has been hit four times this week, 3200 block or Fountain has been hit three times...”

 

He was interrupted by a male patrol officer who handed him a printout. The sergeant bit his lip as he scanned the paper.

 

“Okay, 22-A-35 just put out this broadcast for a critical missing from 10605 Sherman Avenue. Subject is a David Vargas. He's a male Latino, 22 years old, 6'1”, 220 pounds, has the mental capacity of a five year old. He also needs daily medication for a heart condition. Last seen in front of his house at 0730 wearing a purple Lakers jersey and black shorts. As an extra bonus, his mom says that he has a fear of people in uniform.”

 

The officers groaned collectively as most of them copied down the information. Finding a grown man with a child's mind was a task already fraught with potential complications. The fact that he might run or lash out at the people in uniform trying to help him definitely complicated things.

 

“Let's get this young man back to his family,” Nishioka contiued. “Car assignments are same as yesterday, with the exceptions of our transfers. Perez and Freeman, Adam-26, Segovian and Hill, X-Ray-18, Davis and Jones, Adam-8. That's it. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.”

 

“Hey, there's two trays of my wife's fruit cake in the break room,” Sergeant Rideout called over the sound of chairs scraping the floor. “I don't want to have to bring that shit back home with me, so make it disappear, please.”

 

“That an order, Sarge?” asked Malloy.

 

“If it has to be!”

 

XXXXXX

 

“What do you know about the new captain?” asked Reed as he and Malloy cruised in their black and white Charger.

 

“Mac?” asked Malloy, his hand draped over the steering wheel.

 

“You're on a first name basis with the captain?”

 

Malloy smiled as he watched traffic pass by.

 

“Sorta. MacDonald was one of my sergeants when I worked Hollenbeck. He's fair, squared away, and definitely old school. I heard some of the guys up in the detective bureau complaining about the fact that he expects them to roll on back up calls now.”

 

“Detectives backing _us_ up?” Reed chuckled. “That's something.”  
  
Malloy shrugged.

 

“That's how it was when I was coming up. I mean, everybody rolls on a help call, but nowadays, you typically don't see any plain wraps rolling to assist on a back up call.”

 

The radio came to life with three alert tones.

 

“ _Sunset units, any Sunset units, and 22-Adam-12, 211 just occurred. 5471 Cahuenga boulevard at the Robertson Savings. Suspect #1 is a male, unknown race, approximately six feet tall, wearing a snowman costume,”_ Reed and Malloy exchanged amused looks. “ _Suspect #2, male, unknown race, approximately 5'10”, wearing a reindeer costume. Both last seen on foot, northbound Cahuenga towards Lake, two ago. Weapons used were a shotgun and a pistol. Loss was approximately $5,000 dollars U.S. currency. Code-3, Incident 1224 and RD 2217.”_

 

“22-Adam-12, roger,” Reed responded, keying the mic. “Show us handling Code-3 from Wilson and Ardmore.”

 

Malloy activated the siren and emergency lights.

 

“I'd like to say that nothing surprises me anymore, but whenever I do...”

 

They arrived two minutes later, to find Sergeant Rideout standing on the sidewalk in front of the bank, talking to the manager. He jogged over to the patrol car as they stopped at the curb.

 

“What’ve we got, Sarge?” asked Malloy.

 

“Dude in a snowman costume comes in with a 12 gauge and holds up the nearest teller while Rudolph guards the door,” the tall sergeant replied, leaning down to look at them. “Teller managed to slip in a dye pack. They run out to this Toyota here, only the engine stalls, so they hoof it _that_ way up Cahuenga. Head on up, I’m gonna put out the broadcast. They couldn’t have gotten too far on foot.”

 

Reed waved in acknowledgement as they merged back into traffic.

 

“Geez. Nobody wears stocking masks, anymore?” said Malloy, changing lanes.

 

Two blocks over, Orozco and McGavin rolled through a semi-industrial neighborhood, with a mix of apartment buildings and businesses on either side of the street.

 

“Weird-ass shit happens at the holidays,” Orozco said as she slowed the Explorer to a crawl. “Reindeers robbing banks...”

 

“ _Reindeer,_ ” McGavin corrected her. “The plural and singular are the same.”

 

“Shut the fuck up. Don't act like you're smart.”

 

“Whoa, hold up. I think I see something.”

 

Orozco stopped at the curb and both officers emerged from the SUV.

 

“Snowman head,” said McGavin as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

 

Appearing as if a decapitation had just occurred, the rounded, white felt head of a snowman costume rested on its side near the mouth of an alley.

 

Orozco crouched by the head and inspected it.

 

“Red hand print on one side of it here,” she said.

 

“Dye pack exploded,” McGavin replied, gesturing to several red stained bills scattered farther down the sidewalk near the alley.

 

Orozco nodded towards the alley as she stood and drew her pistol. McGavin pulled the ROVER from his belt.

 

“22-A-44, show us Code-6 at 5432 Hooper. We may have Adam-12's 211 suspects in the alley to the east of this location. Requesting backup.”

 

Just a few blocks away, Detectives Rick Hunter and Tucker Pace were waiting in line to order at the walk up window of their favorite donut shop.

 

“Let's take it,” said Hunter, heading for their unmarked sedan at the curb.

 

“Seriously?” asked Pace, hesitant to leave his spot in line.

 

Hunter slid in behind the wheel and closed his door.

 

“The captain says he wants detectives rolling on backup calls, so we roll on backup calls,” he called, snatching the mic from its holder. “22-William-56, show us backing Adam-44.”

 

As soon as Pace was in the car, Hunter pulled into traffic.

 

Orozco peered around the corner to see that the alley dead ended with a ten foot high wall. Two overflowing dumpsters lined either side of the alley and in the right rear corner there was a large stack of wooden pallets and cardboard boxes.

 

The officers crept down the alley and took up a position behind the dumpster on the right.

 

“It’s not coming off! It’s not coming off!” a male voice shouted frantically, near the back of the alley.

 

“Oh man! This can’t get any worse!” another man replied.

 

As Orozco crouched behind the dumpster, she saw the rest of the snowman costume, stained red, laying on the pavement in a pile.

 

She nodded to her partner. McGavin took a step forward.

 

“Police!” he barked. “Show me your hands!”

 

An African-American man wearing a T-shirt and shorts stepped out from behind the stack of pallets, holding two fistfuls of red cash.

 

A white man wearing a furry brown bodysuit stepped out beside him holding a reindeer head in one hand and a sawed-off shotgun in the other.

 

“Drop the gun!” shouted Orozco.

 

The first man quickly released the ruined cash and dropped to his knees with his hands raised.

 

The man in the reindeer costume still stood there, perplexed and wide eyed.

 

“Drop the gun!” Orozco ordered again. “On the ground!”

  
The man stared down at the shotgun, then quickly tossed it aside. He took a step backward and ran for the rear wall.

 

“Stop!” McGavin shouted as he rushed forward.

 

The suspect tossed the reindeer head over the wall, then stepped onto the crates and pulled himself to the top of the wall before dropping down behind it.

 

“22-A-44, we’ve got one in custody in the alley off of Hooper,” McGavin called into his radio. “The second suspect just hopped a wall and ran onto Oak, unknown direction. Male white wearing a reindeer costume.”

 

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Orozco as she handcuffed the suspect and pulled him to his feet. “I mean, I gotta know. Why would you dress up in these stupid costumes?”

 

“We…we figured they’d be good disguises, since it’s Christmas and all,” the man replied as they walked him to their unit. “Figured as soon as we put on masks or somethin‘, people would call the cops. But…who’s gonna call the cops on Frosty and Rudolph?”

 

“Well,” McGavin pushed him into the back seat and closed the door. “I guess somebody did anyway, huh?”

 

A silver Prius slowed to a stop in the street ahead of the patrol car.

 

“The fuck is up with this guy?” McGavin rested his hand on the grip of his holstered sidearm as he approached the small car.

 

“That's...that's our Uber,” the suspect called from the backseat of the black and white.

 

“Are you fucking serious?” Orozco laughed. “Your get away car is an Uber?”

 

“Get out of here,” McGavin told the driver. “He's already got a ride.”

 

XXXXXX

 

The suspect in the reindeer costume ran two more blocks through back alleys, then stopped and slipped the reindeer head back on. If the cops stopped him, he thought, he'd just claim to be a different reindeer.

 

He paused, took a deep breath and walked out of the next alley at a slow amble, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. He had made it half way down the sidewalk when a patrol car rounded the corner.

 

The reindeer froze.

 

“Ya gotta be kiddin' me,” Reed said. “He’s still wearing the head?”

 

The radio car accelerated and screeched to a stop in the street.

 

“Freeze!” shouted Malloy, stepping from the car.

 

The suspect bolted down the sidewalk. Due to the poor vision afforded him by the costume's headpiece, he was unable to see the approaching unmarked Crown Vic as he ran into the street.

 

Hunter slammed on the brakes. The reindeer rolled up onto the hood, then slid off and landed in the middle of the street on the double yellow line.

 

He threw off his head then screamed in pain as he clutched his right knee.

 

“22-Adam-12,”, Reed called into his radio as he and Malloy jogged forward. “Show a Code-4 at Fifth and Vassar _,_ suspect in custody. Request an R.A. unit for an adult make struck by a car.”

 

“Shit!” Hunter snapped as he stepped from the car and slammed his door.

 

“Nice job, fellas!” Malloy said, handcuffing the suspect. “Should we call Animal Control or do you just wanna strap him to the roof of your shop?”

 

XXXXXX

 

Jones steered the black and white SUV as Davis, riding shotgun sipped her peppermint latte`.

 

“So I guess we should get the small talk out of the way,” said Jones from behind dark shades. “You married? Kids? Seeing anybody?”

 

“Nope,” Davis replied.

 

“On all three?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Okay,” he nodded, watching the traffic ahead of them. “I'm divorced, myself. I've got a daughter. Tasha. She's nine. I'm absolutely wrapped around her little finger. Shit just didn't work out between me and her mom, you know, but we get along.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“So you used to work down at Newton, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Rode with Orozco for two years.”

 

“Worked gangs at Southeast before I got wheeled to Sunset. There's a captain Davis at South Bureau Homicide. Any relation?”

 

Davis nodded as she looked out her window.

 

“He's my dad.”

 

“Really?” Jones guided the Explorer into a right turn. “So you joined the family business. Must've been nice to have a leg up when you applied.”

 

“Fuck that shit,” the blonde replied. “I did everything on my own. I didn't want or need any help from my old man. I got where I am on my own fucking merits.”

 

He raised his right hand in a calming gesture.

 

“Whoa. Chill. I just meant, you grew up a cop's kid, so you had a better idea about the job going in than people who didn't.”

 

A red sedan swerved into traffic before them, blowing past a stop sign.

 

“Light 'em up,” said Jones.

 

Davis hit the emergency lights and chirped the siren twice. The car drifted over the double yellow line, before veering back into its own lane.

 

Davis sighed as she grabbed the microphone and switched on the unit's P.A. system.

 

“Pull over.”

 

The sedan finally slowed and pulled over to the curb.

 

“22-Adam-8, show use Code-6 on a traffic stop, Sunset and Woodley,” Davis informed the dispatcher. “Red Lincoln. California 6-Paul-Zebra-Frank-5-5-1.”

 

“Day drinkin' on Christmas Eve,” Jones sighed as they stepped from the unit. “Classy as fuck.”

 

“Partner,” Davis said from the sidewalk, nodding to the _Thin Blue Line_ sticker on the sedan's back window.

 

“Great.” Jones mumbled as he approached the driver's door. “Good morning, Sir. Do you know why I stopped you this morning?”

 

A husky man with white hair and a bushy mustache looked up at him, both hands still resting on the steering wheel.

 

“Ah, I think I probably missed a stop sign back there,” he replied, good-naturedly. “Sorry about that.”

 

“You did more than that. You blew the stop sign back there at Western and you were swerving over the line afterward. Can I see your driver's license, registration and proof of insurance?”

 

“Fine,” the man sighed as he retrieved his paperwork from the glove box. He handed it to Jones, then pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and flipped it open to reveal a six pointed badge. He stared up at Jones, waiting for a reaction.

 

“Can you take your license out of your wallet, please, Sir?” Davis said, peering through the passenger side window.

 

The driver looked at her and then back at Jones. He grudgingly pulled the license from the wallet and handed it to Jones.

 

“We really gonna do this?”

 

“Which station do you work out of Deputy...” Jones paused as he read the license. “Brenner?”  
  
“It's _Sergeant_ , and I work at West Hollywood Station.”

 

“How much have you had to drink this morning?”

 

“Hell, I didn't count. A couple of beers, I guess.”

 

“Are you armed right now, Sir?”

 

“No. Locked my piece in my trunk. I don't carry when I drink.”

 

“Can you go ahead and step out of the car for me, Sir?”

 

Brenner shook his head.

 

“Jesus Christ. I'm fine. I'm three blocks from home. I've had a long shift. I know LAPD ain't what it used to be, but I assume professional courtesy's not completely dead yet, is it?”

 

“Sir, you've exhibited signs of being under the influence. Step out of the car. Now.”

 

“This is fucking unbelievable. I've got twenty-four years on the job. That doesn't mean shit?”

 

“Sergeant!” Davis said sternly. “My partner asked you, then he told you. You know what comes next.”

 

The driver grunted and opened his door.

 

“Step onto the sidewalk for me, please,” Jones said.

 

Brenner steadied himself against the car as he made his way around to the sidewalk. He swayed slightly as he stood before them.

 

Jones hooked his thumbs over the buckle of his Sam Browne.

 

“Do you have any problem submitting to a field sobriety test, Sir?”

 

Brenner rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

 

“Come on, man. Drop this 'Sir' bullshit. Cut me a break, alright? You know how many times I caught a brother officer dirty and I helped him out?”

 

Jones tapped the small, black body cam clipped to his chest.

 

“My hands are tied here. I'm not gonna jeopardize my job behind this shit. Are you gonna submit to a field sobriety test or not?”  
  


“Well, Merry fuckin' Christmas.” Brenner fell back against the car and folded his arms. “Twenty-four years and my career's gonna end now because of a couple of goddamned diversity hires. Shit.”

 

“Sounds like a 'no' to me, partner,” said Davis, pulling the handcuffs from the back of her belt.

 

“Me too,” Jones replied, his eyes still fixed on the man before him.

 

Davis nodded.

 

“Sir, turn around, put your hands behind your back.”

 

“Okay, wait...wait,” Brenner held up his hands, his voice softening. “Please, can't we just work something out here? Come on, man. Look, I get it. You guys...you're a couple of good cops...”

 

“You mean for a couple of diversity hires?” Jones stared back at him.

 

“Okay, I'm sorry about that, but...this is my second DUI. I'm done for sure if you guys hook me.”

 

Jones rested his hands on his hips.

 

“Let me ask you this, if two of your deputies stopped a cop for DUI, with the entire stop captured on camera, would you tell them to cut the guy loose?”

 

Brenner lowered his eyes. He swayed in place as he stared at the ground. As he reached for the trunk of his car to steady himself, he slipped and fell against the sedan.

 

“We're done.” Jones lifted him and threw him onto the trunk of the car in one quick motion. He pinned Brenner's arms behind his back while Davis cuffed him.

 

“Please!” Brenner whimpered as Davis opened the rear door of the patrol car. “Please don't do this...”

 

“Watch your head,” Davis replied.

 

Jones guided him into the back seat of the black and white and closed the door.

 

“I'll call for a tow,” Davis pulled the radio from her belt.

 

Jones shook his head as he adjusted his shades.

 

“Guy's an asshole,” he lowered his voice. “Still, I hate locking up another cop.”

 

Davis shrugged.

 

“Like you said, you're not gonna lose your job over him.”  
  
“Roger that.”

 

“So fuck him, then. A deuce is a deuce.”

 

Jones chuckled as he watched the traffic pass by.

 

“You're cold-blooded, girl.”

 

Davis smirked.

 

“My sergeant at Newton asked me once if I had a soul. I told him I leave it at home.”

 

XXXXXX

 

“I'm telling you, Officer, I haven't done anything wrong,” the man said as he stood before Zavala in the driveway of a small one story house on a quiet residential street. “She just came out on her porch, calling me a trespasser, telling me to get my black ass outta here. I tried to tell her that the real estate company sent me out to survey the property. She lives next door. She's got nothing to do with this place.”

 

“She actually said _'get your black ass out of here'_?” asked Zavala.

 

“Yes, sir. That lady's racist as hell. I'm just trying to do my job. I showed you all of my paperwork and everything. That's my truck right over there. I just want to finish and go home to my family.”

 

Zavala handed the man back his driver's license.

 

“Okay, sir. Why don't you hang on a minute, while I go talk to my partner?”

 

He crossed the lawn of the house next door as Taylor descended the steps. A gray haired woman with a scowl stood on the porch, staring at them with her arms folded.

 

“What's up?” asked Zavala as both men stepped onto the sidewalk.

 

“She swears he's a burglar, casing the place,” Taylor replied quietly. “Her only proof is that _'she can just tell'_.”

 

The officers looked at each other.

 

“Man, your people...” Zavala sighed.

 

Taylor folded his arms.

 

“Hey, I don't claim her. What's his story?”

 

“He's a contractor. He's just doing a walk around of the property. His company just bought the house. Dude's clean. His paperwork's in order and everything.”

 

“Are you gonna talk to him or not?!” the woman shouted from the porch.

 

“Ma'am, I'm just trying to do my job!” the contractor shouted back.

 

“I'm gonna talk to him right now, ma'am,” Zavala replied. He motioned for the man to meet him on the sidewalk.

 

“Yes sir?”

 

“Did you see the Lakers game last night?” asked Zavala.

 

The man stared back at him with a puzzled look.

 

“Oh hell yeah. Lebron went off.”

 

“Did you see that dunk in the fourth quarter?”

 

“That's why they call him King.”

 

“You think we got enough to win the division?”  
  
“Naw, man. We ain't gettin' past Golden State.”

 

“Okay, sir. You can go ahead and finish your job. You want us to wait here until you're done?”

 

“I'd appreciate that officers,” the man replied, shaking hands with them before walking back towards the house.

 

“Okay, ma'am. I talked to him,” Zavala called, waving to the woman on the porch.

 

“That's it?” the woman shouted.

 

“He's allowed to be here, ma'am. He's just doing his job.”

 

The woman stepped to the railing and pointed at the contractor as he passed.

 

“Then hurry up and get your black ass back to Inglewood!”

 

“Hey!” Taylor called walking towards her house. “That man's doing his job. He has every right to be here. You have no right to dictate anything to him. He's not on your property and he hasn't bothered you one bit. My partner and I are gonna stand right here until he's finished and if you say one more word to him, I'm gonna lock you up for harassment. Are we clear?”

 

The woman glared at him.

 

“He can't-”

 

“I said, _are...we...clear_?”

 

The woman flung open her screen door and marched back into the house. The door slammed behind her, causing the attached Christmas wreath to fall off.

 

“Damn,” Zavala laughed. “White folks snappin' at each other, is like, my favorite thing.”

 

“I'm tired of people like her. Reminds me of my aunt Joan.” Taylor spit on the ground. “I hate that bitch.”

 

XXXXXX

 

“So, what's the plan for tonight?” asked McGavin as he and Orozco sat on the patio of a small cafe`. Piped in Christmas carols played quietly in the background.

 

Orzco shrugged, pouring dressing on her salad.

 

“Netflix and chill with myself. Enjoy the peace and quiet before tomorrow.”

 

McGavin sipped from a glass soda bottle.

 

“Not a Christmas fan, huh?”

 

“It's just...my family drives me crazy. We're having Christmas at my sister's this year and my Tia Carmen is coming out from Arizona and she's crazy religious. She thinks she can turn me straight if she prays enough. Then my super woke, atheist cousin is gonna roll through at some point and pick a fight with her and then he'll throw shit at me for being a cop. My mom won't stop feeding everyone until we all explode. Her tamales are frickin' bomb, though. I usually chill with all of the kids in the backyard for a bit because I'm the favorite aunt and then eventually, me and my pops go kick it in the garage and have a few beers and talk about the Dodgers.”

 

She smiled down at her plate.

 

“I mean, I don't hate it.” she lifted a forkful of greens to her lips. “What are you doing?”

 

McGavin shrugged.

 

“U...same. Family shit. This place sucks by the way. Twelve bucks for a fuckin' turkey sandwich and it doesn't even come with fries? They don't even have Coke, it's this artisanal Italian soda shit.”

 

“Hey, I drive, so I get to pick lunch. Them's the rules, bitch.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Other than the armed robbery near the start of watch, it had been a relatively quiet Christmas Eve for the officers of Sunset Division. Reed and Malloy navigated the late afternoon traffic hoping to ride out the rest of their shift without incident.

 

“So your mind's made up, then?” asked Reed. “Can't change it?”

 

“Nope,” Malloy replied, guiding the patrol car into the parking lot of a small convenience store. “I appreciate the offer, but I'm gonna enjoy my Die Hard movie festival and my left over Chinese take out and have a nice, quiet evening.”

 

“Well, we'd love to have you. The whole block's invited. Jean's family used to have a big Christmas Eve party and since this is the first year in our new house, she's looking forward to hosting her own.”

 

Malloy stared through the windshield into the store.

 

“You remember the description on that critical missing?”

 

“I think he was 6'1”, 220. Lakers Jersey.”

 

Malloy pointed towards the store. Reed turned his head to see a tall young man wearing a purple Lakers jersey inside the store, perusing the magazine section.

 

The officers stepped from the patrol car.

 

“He's got a fear of people in uniform, right?” said Malloy. “Let's play it cool. Let me make contact.”

 

Chimes sounded as Reed and Malloy entered the store.

  
  


The boy had his back turned to them as he flipped through a comic book at the magazine rack. Reed quickly made his way down the adjacent aisle and around the corner so that he could block the boy from exiting in that direction.

  
  


Malloy stood at the opposite end of the aisle.

  
  


“Hey, David,” he said warmly. “You're David, right?”

  
  


The young man looked up from his comic book.

  
  


He stared down at him wide eyed, then turned away only to find Reed smiling at him from the other end of the aisle.

  
  


He let out a small whine and tugged at the collar of his jersey. His breathing grew rapid.

  
  


“Hi, David. My name's Pete.” Malloy smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  
  


The boy stared back at him, not speaking.

  
  


“David, your mom's really worried about you. Did you know that?”

  
  


“Mom's mad at me, isn't she?”

  
  


“No, no. She's not mad at you at all. She's worried, though. She wants you to come home. Did you run away?”

  
  


“I...I didn't wanna...wanna take my medicine,” he began to cry. “I hate it! I hate taking the pills!”

 

“I know. Those pills help you though, you know?” Malloy offered.“They keep you from getting sick.”

  
  


He began to sway in place, clutching the comic book to his chest.

  
  


“I know. They're 'cause my heart doesn't work right.”

  
  


By now, a small crowd of customers had begun to form at the end of the aisle behind Malloy. Two of the people had begun to film the scene with their phones. David eyed them and began to tremble.

  
  


“Look, why don't we take you home? Your mom really wants to see you, David. And it's Christmas Eve. I bet you've got presents to open tomorrow...”

  
  


“No. I...I don't want to go with you. My...my cousin Johnny said that...the polices always take people to jail. There's bad people in the jail. I don't...I don't wanna go to jail with bad people. Johnny said...he said that the police is bad.”

  
  


“You're not going to jail, pal.” Malloy replied as he took a step forward. “I promise.”

  
  


David dropped the comic book and screamed, grabbing a handful of his own hair.

  
  


Reed held up a hand, motioning for his partner to back off.

  
  


“Hey, what comic book is that?” he asked.

  
  


The boy turned to look at him and wiped his nose.

  
  


“It's X-Men.”

  
  


“Oh man. I love X-Men!” Reed laughed. “Who's your favorite?”

  
  


“Policemen like comics?” the boy asked incredulously.

  
  


“Heck yeah, buddy. I got 500 comic books at my house. How about you?”

  
  


“I...don't have that many, but I have...um...my Mom told me I have 57 comic books.”

  
  


“Wow! That's a lot. So come on, who's your favorite X-Man?”

  
  


“Wolverine.”

 

“Ah. I knew it. It's 'cause of the claws, right?”

  
  


“Yeah.” the boy smiled. “They're so cool!”

  
  


“Mine's Colossus. I always thought his metal skin was pretty cool. Did you read the one last month where they teamed up with Spider-Man?”

  
  


“I was just looking at it right...” David excitedly picked up the comic book.

“Right here. In this one.”

 

“Oh, it's a good story! You know what? I have a great idea!”

  
  


“An...an idea?”

 

“Well, its more of a deal.”

  
  


David cocked his head.

  
  


“What...what kind of deal? “

 

“How about...if I buy you that comic book, will you let us take you home to your mom?”

 

“But...I'm gonna get in trouble with my mom.”

  
  


“Nope. I'll talk with your mom and it'll be okay. Honest.”

  
  


The boy stared down at the comic book in his hands. He snatched another one off of the rack and held it up.

 

“This one too?”

  
  


Reed laughed.

  
  


“Okay. That one too, but you have to let us take you home. Is that a deal?”

  
  


“Deal!” David smiled.

  
  


Reed offered his hand.

  
  


“Shake?”

  
  


The boy stared at Reed's hand for a few seconds. Then cautiously shook hands with him.

  
  


“You drive a hard bargain, my friend,” said Reed as they headed for the cash register.

  
  


Malloy smiled to himself and shook his head as he followed them.

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


“Man, what a slow day,” Davis sighed, drumming her fingers on the SUV's door panel.

  
  


“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Jones chuckled.

  
  


“I'm used to being a ghetto copper. Shit was always poppin'.”

  
  


A brown, older model Toyota Camry with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof changed lanes in front of them.

 

“Tags,” Jones nodded towards the car.

 

“Shit,” Davis flipped on the light bar. “I can't remember the last time I cut this many citations on a watch.

  
  


“Right tail light's busted, too,” Jones said. “You're contact on this one.”

 

Davis grunted and picked up the mic.

 

“22-Adam-8, show us on a traffic stop, Maple and Vinewood. Brown Toyota Camry. California: 7-Lincoln, Charles-Tom-1-5-8.”

 

The Toyota pulled to the curb beside an empty lot surrounded by a chain-link fence.

 

The patrol car's red and blue lights reflected off of the buildings and passing cars. The sun had almost set, painting the sky a bright pink. A crisp breeze blew as the officers approached the car.

 

Jones peered into the passenger side windows of the car as his partner walked to the driver's side. He saw the faces of three small children staring back at him. They were wide eyed as was the dark haired woman sitting in the front seat whom Jones assumed was their mother.

 

He offered a polite smile and wave.

 

“Sir, do you know why we stopped you tonight?" Davis asked the driver, resting her hand on the grip of her pistol as she leaned down to face the man behind the wheel.

 

The driver stared back up at her nervously. He wore a blue work shirt with the name _Fred_ stitched above the left pocket. His hair was cut short and he sported a neatly trimmed goatee.

 

“Um...I guess because my tags are expired, ma'am,” he replied clamly.

 

“Did you know your right tail light is broken as well?”

 

“Yes ma'am. I've been out of work for almost two years. I just couldn't afford to get it fixed.”

 

“Okay. Can I see your driver's license, registration and proof of insurance please?”

 

The man dutifully retrieved the paperwork and handed it to her.

 

“Is this your family?” asked Davis, taking the papers from him.

 

“Yes, ma'am. My wife and my kids.”

 

“Okay, sit tight for a minute, Sir,” Davis said before walking back to meet her partner on the sidewalk.

 

The dispatcher notified them that the car was not stolen, but had an expired registration dating back to last year.

 

“What do you wanna do?” Jones asked, folding his arms.

 

Davis sighed.

 

“I'm gonna run him and see if he's got any warrants.” Davis opened her door and sat down in the shotgun seat.

 

Jones rested an arm on the open door.

 

“Obviously, but that's not what I meant.”

 

She flipped open the computer and began to type in the driver's information.

 

“Well...tags are expired. Gotta impound it, right?” she replied.

 

“Want me to call for the tow?”

 

She stared at the car. Her eyes darted from the tree on the roof to the three little faces staring back at her over the back seat.

 

“Uh...not yet.”

 

When the driver's record came back clean, she stepped from the car and looked at Jones.

 

“What's up?” he asked.

 

Davis took a deep breath and then made her way back up to the driver's window.

 

“Sir, can you step out of the car please?”

 

The driver stared at the steering wheel and heaved a sigh before stepping out and following her to the sidewalk.

 

“Mr. Reynaldo, please be honest with me,” she said. “Are you being straight when you said that you can't afford to pay for your registration? Because it seems that you can afford that Christmas tree. You told me that you were out of work, but you're wearing a work shirt. So you are employed?”

 

“Yes, Officer. I finally got hired last month as an electrician's apprentice over in Van Nuys,” the man replied, running a hand through his hair. “I just got paid today and I...I know I probably should have put the money towards something else, but...my kids have never had a Christmas tree before and...”

 

Davis handed him back his license and registration.

 

“Do you still live over on Morrison?”

 

“Yes ma'am.”

 

"I'm gonna let you and your family head on home, Sir, and we're gonna follow you.” she said. “Take care of your registration as soon as possible and the same goes for that tail light. If I come across you again and you haven't made any attempt to get your car registered, I'm impounding it. Okay?”

 

“Oh, thank you Officer! Thank you!” the driver sighed in relief as he shook their hands. “Thank you so much! I will take care of it, I promise!”

 

“Merry Christmas,” Davis called as the man headed back to his car. He waved back happily.

 

Jones just stared at his younger partner and cracked a smile as he shook his head.

 

She turned on her heal and walked back to the black and white.

  
  


“You weren't really gonna call for a tow, were you?” she called over her shoulder.

  
  


Jones rounded the front of the cruiser.

  
  


“I knew you weren't gonna go full on Grinch mode,” he laughed, the unit's red and blue LED's lighting his face. “Guess you forgot to leave your soul at home today.”

  
  


She cracked a sly smile at him before climbing back into the SUV.

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


David Vargas' mother hugged him and kissed his cheek on the front porch of their house as Reed and Malloy observed from the walkway.

 

She smiled at the officers with glistening eyes.

  
  


“Thank you, Officers. Thank you so much.”

 

“We're just glad he's home, Ma'am,” Reed replied.

  
  


“Bye! Thanks for the comic books, Officer Jim!” David called as his mother ushered him inside. “Merry Christmas!”

  
  


After exchanging all of the proper information with his mother that was needed to close out the case, the officers turned and headed towards the patrol car.

  
  


“Do you really have 500 comic books, Reed?” asked Malloy as he opened his door.

  
  


Reed took his seat in the black and white and closed his door.

  
  


“Sure do. Been collecting them since I was a kid. Why? Does that surprise you?”

  
  


Malloy shook his head.

  
  


“Just never figured you for a comic book nerd, is all.”

  
  


Reed chuckled.

  
  


“It takes all kinds.”

  
  


Malloy stared out his window before starting the engine.

  
  


“So, should I bring anything?”

  
  


“You're coming to the party?”

  
  


“Why not? I think my leftovers Chinese can hold another night.”

  
  


“Just bring yourself, partner,” Reed smiled as he clicked the mic. “22-Adam-12, show us clear.”

  
  


XXXXXX

  
  


That night, as Mr. Reynaldo and his wife stood in their apartment, watching their children marvel at the family's first ever Christmas tree, the officers of Sunset Station headed home.

  
  


Taylor and his wife Janet enjoyed a nice dinner at his partner's house. Zavala laughed uproariously at a bawdy joke that earned him a playful slap from his wife Gabby. The couples would later exchange presents and hugs before the Taylors made the long drive back home.

  
  


Sergeant Nishioka sat in his favorite recliner, reading a tattered and passed-down copy of _T'was the Night Before Christmas_ to his five grandchildren who were gathered at his feet, while the rest of the adults chatted and laughed in the kitchen.

  
  


Reed happily ushered Malloy into a house full of people and proudly introduced his partner to his wife. Malloy presented her with a pumpkin pie that he had picked up from Vons on the way over.

  
  


Davis crossed the lawn of her parents' house carrying a paper shopping bag full of gift-wrapped presents and dreading another one of her father's inevitable talks where he would encourage her to leave patrol for a safer desk job that could help her chances of advancing in the department. Her mother opened the door and she faked a warm smile as she stepped inside.

  
  


Jones hugged his daughter before tucking her into bed and wishing her a merry Christmas. His ex-wife and her new husband waited for him as he stepped from her bedroom into the hall.

  
  


They reminded him that he was of course, invited to Christmas dinner. He told them that he would definitely be there. He then left and headed back home to his empty apartment.

  
  


McGavin pulled a large bag from the trunk of his car and stared at a modest, one-story ranch home in North Hollywood. The house's roofline was ringed with twinkling Christmas lights and a small inflatable snowman stood watch on the front lawn.

  
  


He hadn't stopped by in a year or two. The house had a fresh coat of paint, but other than that, it hadn't changed much since he had lived there. It was still the only stable home that he had ever known, the home of his foster parents.

  
  


He stood there on the front walkway, hesitant to go any further. He wondered how fast he could leave the bag on the porch and get back to his car before anyone noticed.

  
  


The front door opened and a plump woman in her sixties with platinum blonde hair peered out.

  
  


“Yes? Can I help you...Dan...Daniel? Is that you?”

  
  


He stepped forward into porch light's glow.

  
  


“Hi, Carol.”

  
  


“Oh my...get up here!” she turned her head. “Joe! Daniel's here!”

  
  


He cautiously stepped onto the porch and she threw her arms around him.

  
  


“We missed you!” she sniffed. “It's so good to see you!”

  
  


He hugged her back.

  
  


“I'm sorry I haven't been by in a while.”  
  
“Oh, that's okay. You're busy with work and everything.”

  
  


A tall, balding man with glasses and a green sweater appeared and smiled out at him.

  
  


“Welcome home, Danny boy! Come on in! We've got plenty of ham and everything!”

  
  


“Sounds good. I um...I wasn't sure how many kids you might have...”, McGavin held up the bag. “But I brought some presents for 'em, just in case. Nothing too big.”

  
  


“We've got a couple of brothers staying with us,” the woman said, ushering him inside. “That was very thoughtful of you. I can't wait to hear what you've been up to...”

  
  


Meanwhile, Orozco slept on her couch with _Cheez-Its_ scattered across her chest as the the closing scenes of _It's A Wonderful Life_ played across her TV screen.  
  
  


**END**

 

_This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, places or events_  
_is purely coincidental. All law enforcement and legal information may not be accurate._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary/Notes
> 
> Shop: Slang for police car. Derived from the number on the roof, known as a shop number which is used by the motor pool and mechanics to keep track of the vehicle.
> 
> Deuce: Drunken driver.
> 
> Adam Unit: The radio designation for a 2 officer patrol unit.
> 
> X-Ray: The radio designation for a supplemental patrol unit.
> 
> Code-6: Field Investigation.
> 
> Code-4: Situation is under control/no further assistance needed.
> 
> Code-3: A high priority call necessitating the use of emergency lights and siren.
> 
> 211: The California penal code for armed robbery.
> 
> Porch Pirate: A criminal who steals packages from the front porch of a house. Especially active during the holiday season.
> 
> Sam Browne: A gun belt/utility belt worn by patrol officers.
> 
> MDT: Mobile Data Terminal. An on-board computer used in most patrol vehicles.
> 
> R.A.: Rescue Ambulance.


End file.
